The Wandering Wizard
by TheShotgunSword
Summary: Haunted by nightmares he doesn't understand, Ilmiar Graylock tries to continue on with his life, but will his dreams become a reality?
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

Lost, in the void. Seeing, but not seeing. Standing, but not standing. Hearing, but not hearing. A voice echoed around his mind repeatedly and ignorantly, as Ilmiar felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

'Find Him.'

Those two words, again and again. Suddenly, he felt something in the palm of his hand. He looked down, a gold ring was sat there, shining in the darkness around him, inlaid with a tiny fragment of flawless marveled at the craftsmanship, but did not slip it onto his finger, as it was not his to take.

His nostrils filled with the acrid smell of battle. He was standing in the Temple District of the Imperial City. Smoke and fire engulfed the street, shattered buildings and cobblestones around him, and bodies littered the ground, the bodies of Imperial Soldiers and Aldmeri Soldiers.

He was disturbed by the silence. There was no sound at all, except for the crackling of nearby fires.

He walked on through the carnage, sword drawn in a cautious position. Only then did he notice that blood covered his robes, and dripped from the blade of his sword. He ached all over, both from the exhaustion and something...different.

He realized suddenly that he felt very...old, he ran a hand across his face and felt weathered wrinkles and a receding hairline. His conscious self felt that he should feel alarmed, but everything, strangely, felt right, felt as it should be.

He looked up to the Temple of the One. There, alone, amongst the bodies, stood a single Imperial Soldier. His armour was battered and worn, covered in blood, grime and soot. He wore no helmet and carried only a flimsy shield and a shortsword. He was very young, probably a conscript, hastily armed and thrust into battle, combined with no experience and very little training. He was looking at the bodies around him with what seemed to be disinterest, as if he is waiting for something or...someone to arrive.

Ilmiar stepped forward and the two locked into a silent stare. Neither approached the other. Ilmiar was unsure of what he must do. The Imperial stretched out an open palm, he wanted Ilmiar to give him something. Ilmiar nodded slowly with understanding. He took the ruby ring and reached forward to give it to the soldier, but at the last moment flinched.

Suddenly, he was overcome with a great fear, like he was in the gravest of mortal peril, and snatched the ring away in a clenched fist. The soldier looked surprised as Ilmiar backed away, shaking with terror. The Imperial stretched his hand out once more, offering again to take the ring. Ilmiar shook his head, there had to be some other way, some other route available to him, there always had been before.

Before he could think any further however, a sharp, stabbing pain ripped through his abdomen. He collapsed to the ground, the ring fell from his hand and landed on the blood-soaked cobbles, it was not his to take, as it was a gift.

Slowly his eyes closed, and slowly, he was awake.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter One

Ilmiar Graylocke blinked away the remnants of his strange dream, and looked about the room. All the other mages, as it seems, were already awake, he'd overslept yet again. He got up and dressed, and immediatly decided to head downstairs. He had no time for breakfast, he could eat something on the road if needs be.

Today was the day he travelled south, towards the Guild of Archaeology, and already it was not going according to plan. This, to his recall, was the 250th day he had been in Cyrodiil, and about seven months since he was first allowed entry into the Arcane University by Raminus Polus, who saw great potential in him. Some of his fellow magisters offered greetings as he passed them, but Ilmiar had no time to stop and chat, besides, they already bid him farewell the night before over a vintage bottle of Cyrodiilic Brandy, taken without any difficulty from Arch-Mage Hannibal Traven's honourable collection.

It had been a slow half-year, with Ilmiar accomplishing little more than writing in his books and making little trips to some of the Ayleid ruins closer to the city. While only being at the University for a short time, Traven was quick to ask him to become a tutor on the subject of Ayleid Archaeology. On the exception of Irlav Jarol, who was constantly away on field research, Ilmiar was without match when it came to knowledge and raw experience of traversing ancient Ayleid Ruins, and he took the position gladly.

He rubbed his shoulders in the chilly air. For a week now, there had been light snowfall all across of northern Cyrodiil, which was strange for that time of year and many different people had many different superstitions for the odd weather, from something to do with the assassination of the last Emperor a few months back, to a curse from the Daedric Lord Boethiah. Of course, Ilmiar knew better than that, there was clearly some scientific explaination for the odd weather patterns, he just hadn't figured it out at that moment.

The Arboretum were looking as beautiful as ever. Ilmiar was quite sure that there was some kind of enchantment that protected the place from the passing of the seasons, as evidenced, he claimed, by the constant visits from the Priestesses of Kynareth in the gardens. He decided to head to Green Emperor Way, rather than walk through the Arena grounds, which was his usual route, just to save time.

In spite of his initial disgust of gladitorial combat, he had, through boredom at most, found himself spending increasing amounts of time in the Arena stands, watching the duels and occasionally betting as well. He was convinced himself that duels themselves were entirely rigged, otherwise, how could the institution survive with real, even odds for every single bet. Furthermore, he believed he had found a way to mathematically calculate the result of every match before it'd even begun, but to prove it, he would have to visit the Arena on a daily basis, sorely in scientific interest.

At the present moment, Ilmiar was on his way to the Market District, specifically the prestigious Bank of Cyrodiil, at which he had both an account and a collection of safety deposit boxes. It became quite clear immediatly after moving into the University that he couldn't simply leave his collection of highly dangerous magical artifacts simply lying around in the Mages Quarters. Imagine the damage that could be caused if the apprentices had managed to get their hands on his staffs, or worse yet, some of his more powerful scrolls.

Since he didn't want to be held responsible for any potential mass electrocutions, he made his way to the bank and made the deposit needed to store his items in the vaults. He wasn't entirely comfortable with it in truth, especially since those very vaults had been broken into by a particulary cunning thief last year. But he didn't really have any other choice, except burying it all in chests in a field somewhere like a madman.

As he entered the Market District, he threw a casual glance at the pile of loose Ayleid stonework strapped up against the bookstore. A notice read that they were to be collected by the Archaeology Guild and must not be tampered with, but he was quite sure those stones had been there all year. He wondered if the Guild had simply forgotten about them and decided that he will have to make a point of reminding them when he arrived later that day.

As he entered the bank, he gave a respectful nod to the clerk, Sergio. They were regular acquaintances since Ilmiar dropped by to check his account balance regularly. At that time, the total stood at around twenty-two thousand gold pieces, the last two thousand of which he had aquired through compound interest since opening his account last year.

As he was so familiar, he was freely able to head down to the vault, where he began sorting through his belongings. Here, he had stored his collection of books, magic artifacts, weapons and other curiosities he had accumulated on his travels. He pulled on his magical robe and travelling gear, before selecting a number of items to take with him on his journey, including his sword, which he had named Wrath, his Mages' staff of Telekinesis, which he had been awarded with soon after joining the University, his antique elven gauntlets, his satchel, which had inside a bundle of potions, which included healing and magicka, all mixed by himself, a handful of alchemical ingredients, including a large bag of flax seeds, five flasks of kaffe, five Ayleid healing stones, a bedroll and a warlock torch.

Ilmiar thought it was more than enough in theory, but he thought it was best to be prepared than be caught short, as a dangerous encounter a month ago with some vampires in the southeast sewer tunnel proved to him.

As Ilmiar made his way through the Elven Gardens District, his mind wandered back to the particular encounter. It began as a simple walk around the outside of the city walls before his next lecture at the University, as a result, he was lacking all but his old Ayleid dagger and what reserves of magicka he could muster at the time. He had found an abandoned sewer entrance, and hoping it would lead to a collapsed Imperial substructure of some sorts, he set about exploring it. Unfortunatly, the tunnel turned out to be the home of a nest of vampires and the intrepid explorer was saved only by the timely intervension of a party of Orc treasure hunters who had been also combing the southeast sewer tunnels at the time.

With the trip to the bank now done, Ilmiar's final destination was the stables, where his horse Albar was still waiting. The beast had been given far less exercise than Ilmiar would have liked of late, since his trips to the ruins had become far less frequent as the weather had gotten colder. There were brief forays since those ruins were already picked clean and almost always small in size.

Of course, it could be that some new denizens had moved into them since his last visit. He made a mental note to keep an eye out whilst on the road, as he might become another helpless victim of a bandit ambush, or worse, prey for a marauding pack of trolls.

As he headed for the gates, his excitement became palpable. It had been a long time since he went on a proper journey and the new opportunities he might find at the guild of archaeology seemed limitless. One of the gateguards enquired about Ilmiar's destination. Ilmiar simply smiled and said.

"I have no idea."


End file.
